


Shards

by WetSammyWinchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Gen, Hell Trauma, Minor Character Death, Post-Episode: s14e20 Moriah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 02:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20631821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WetSammyWinchester/pseuds/WetSammyWinchester
Summary: Zombies and ghosts they can handle, but this? Just another sick twist in Chuck’s story.





	Shards

**Author's Note:**

  * For [juliasets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliasets/gifts).

> Written for 2019 SPN Summergen. juliasets had so many amazing prompts but this is the one that stuck - “monsters the Winchesters faced have come back to 'life' and Sam and Dean encounter one”. Is he a monster? Well, after all those years in the Cage...
> 
> Thanks to my lovely betas bratfarrar and alyndra!

He remembers the blue. 

The cold glow of it and the burn, how it would crackle like an electrical storm, wrapping around him and piercing inside. It was something he feared and loved, that would hit like a nuclear blast only to fade away again, leaving ash and shadows burned into the walls of his mind.

Now, as he walks out of a hole in the ground, he shields his eyes and stares at the blue sky. Washed out and warm from the sun, it holds the wisps of white clouds and he trails his fingers above his head to trace them. 

The dying grass field he stands on is filled with stone markers and an ancient iron arch that marks the entrance. A graveyard. He knows this place. The memory is blurred inside his head, but he knows it well.

A crow lands on the headstone beside him—_Here lies Hazel Lee, beloved sister and daughter_—and it caws at his intrusion into this lonely domain. The bird’s black feathers are inky and oily, full of spikes that would hurt to touch. He stumbles away, his feet not used to walking on uneven ground, and looks at the torn earth behind him. Roots and worms and rocks and a dark tunnel that goes down and down. 

He hears voices and the crunch of footsteps and ducks behind Hazel’s headstone.

“Well, no zombies here at least. Guess that’s a good thing.”

“Dean, I don’t think anything about this place is good.” 

He cocks his head in recognition at the name and leans forward to look around the corner of the headstone. Two men walk shoulder to shoulder along the gravel path between the graves, hands stuffed in the pockets of their canvas jackets and talking to each other as if there’s no one else in the world. He shakes his head to clear the vision. It must be a vision or a memory bubbling up because seeing these two together means very bad things are about to happen.

“Local news said this crater appeared on Thursday so that’s the same night that Chuck went ballistic on us. Where is it—“ The shorter one stops and whistles when he spots the hole. “Okay, that’s some biblical destruction.” He leans down to examine the walls and the dark depth of it before looking up at the other. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Sam? Can’t be a coincidence.”

The other one—_The One Who Jumped_—stops and stares at the overturned dirt for a few minutes and then scrubs a hand over his chin. When he turns away from the hole and looks around the graveyard, his face is filled with fear. 

Their eyes catch over the headstone. 

He remains still and tries to blend in, but he can’t escape that look. It skates over his skin which has been broken and healed over and over through the centuries and it traces the line of every scar on his flesh. The One Who Jumped takes a step closer and the look changes to one of concern. 

He tries to pry his tongue from the roof of his mouth where it has sat desiccated and unused. He struggles to speak, unsure what to say to the other man’s fear and concern. Only one word comes out. “Brother.”

“Adam?”

~~~

“That was Enochian, right?” The other man sounds angry as he climbs in the driver’s side of the car. Adam may have been an only child growing up but he knows anger and fear are close relatives that can mix and flow.

The One Who Jumped—_Sam_, the name bursts through, _it’s Sam, Sam the Protector, Sam the Furious_—gets in the passenger seat. “Yeah, that was Enochian.”

The silence that follows is tense so Adam sits back and runs his palms over the wide, black leather of the back seat and tries to relax as the car rolls over miles of road. Wheatfields go by as his tendons and muscles clench and unclench. His joints hurt as if his whole body was loosened half a turn, and he is shaky like a screw hanging half out of its socket. The cool breeze from Sam’s open window blows against his face and ruffles his hair. For the first time in a long time, he knows what is real.

The driver—_Dean, this is Dean and he’s working on the power of love_—looks in the rearview mirror and grimaces. 

“What are we supposed to do with him?” Dean whispers to Sam who doesn’t answer. “How do we know which one he is? Could be Adam but I wouldn’t put it past Chuck to dump the original Michael in our laps. Just another sick twist in his story.”

A pain shoots through Adam’s chest at the name of his other and he gasps as deep inside, it feels like knives are trying to push out. 

Sam twists around in the front seat. “Are you okay?” 

“The blue isn’t the same,” he blurts out as the pain fades. “And my skin feels empty.” 

It’s not what he wanted to say. His words and thoughts flow swiftly by like that stream where he fished with his dad and caught a walleye. He can’t catch the right words to make any sense. “Are you empty?” he asks Sam. 

Sam hesitates; his eyes narrow and then soften. “Yes. It’s just me.”

“Are we going home?” he asks as the wheat fields turn into rows of corn outside the window.

“Yes, we’re taking you home.”

Dean glances uneasily across the front seat as Sam turns back around but keeps on driving.

~~~

Castiel presses two fingers against Adam’s forehead and he squirms away from the touch, pressing back against the mattress. 

“Well?” Dean asks. Sam stands behind him, arms crossed over his chest, and Cas shakes his head. 

“I need to feel it to know for sure.”

The brothers exchange looks and a familiar chill of dread runs down Adam’s spine. Dean takes off his belt and folds it in half. “You’re gonna want this,” he says not unkindly as he puts it between Adam’s teeth.

Cas rolls his sleeve up and before Adam can yell or move, he pushes his fist through the skin under Adam’s sternum. The pain is blindingly hot and razor-sharp but it’s not the worse he’s ever felt. He clenches the sheets as Cas’s fingers struggle to push further inside, shoving and searching until they wrap around his very center. The tight hold and its warmth are oddly comforting and Adam begins to relax into the pain until there’s a spark. It’s like a lit fuse and the sensation travels through his body, along every nerve, until the charge comes back to bloom inside the angel’s fist. 

Adam smiles as his eyes flash blue. He studies the prism of colors set off by the other angel’s true form and the shadow of wings above him. Castiel frowns and yanks his hand out quickly as he pulls away from the bed.

“Hello, brother,” says a familiar voice, one Adam hasn’t heard in years. “You look surprised to see me.”

As quickly as the spark began, the flash of grace dies out and a wave of exhaustion overcomes Adam. His head drops to the side and his eyes feel heavy while Cas huddles with Sam and Dean at the end of the bed.

“Jesus, Cas, do you jump start that thing?” Dean says.

“Was that Michael?” Sam says.

“Yes and no,” Castiel replies as he wipes his hand on the trench coat. “The broken remains of Michael’s grace appear to be fused together with what’s left of Adam’s soul.”

“Fused?” Dean looks over Sam’s shoulder as Adam manages to sit up and settle with his back to the wall. “What does that mean?”

Castiel sighs and then speaks again. “Like a diamond, formed under intense heat and pressure. Michael and Adam are bonded like that. Except this—” He looks at Adam and then back at Sam. “—is more like frozen shards of glass than gemstones. Fused but fragile.” 

“Fragile? How does something as powerful as an archangel break?” Sam asks.

Cas shrugs. “Lucifer knew what to expect when he went back into the Cage. He spent eons there. But Michael? He was not prepared to be imprisoned. He was angry and desperate to get out and what’s left of him still is. The same thing with Adam. Sam, you were able to prepare yourself as well before you jumped. Adam was not so lucky.”

“Lucky? Is that what you’d call it?” Sam mutters under his breath as he turns back towards the bed to face Adam, his jaw muscles flexing. “So rather than splinter apart, they merged together?” 

Dean taps Castiel’s arm. “What about now? Is Michael waiting to bust out?”

“I doubt it.” Castiel shrugs again which seems to anger Dean more. 

“Goddamnit. Of all the monsters Chuck could throw at us, we end up with another broken vessel to take care of. Ganking Chuck - that’s gotta be our first priority.”

“That broken vessel is our brother, Dean,” Sam says. “We can’t just ignore him to hunt for God.” 

Sam starts to walk back to the bed but Dean grabs his arm. The worry that is written across Dean’s face is not for the world that might need saving but for the only world that matters to him.

“I know he is and I’m sorry Sam, but you can’t get too invested. Look what happened with Nick and Jack.” Dean nods at Adam. “This isn’t gonna end well and I don’t want you to be hurt again.”

Sam brushes off Dean’s hand and spins in frustration for the door, disappearing down the hall. Cas starts to follow and Dean blocks his way.

“We need to be prepared for things to go very wrong,” Dean says. “I won’t take any chances. Not again.” 

~~~

It’s quiet once the three of them leave and he rests. Not quite sleep, he doesn’t remember the last time he slept. The electric charge that filled his body has dropped to a low hum and he’s grateful for the little bit of warmth it provides. However, after a few hours, the silence begins to grate on his bones and he stands up to explore the room. 

Tall cabinets hold medical tools and first aid supplies, and a refrigerator against the wall holds some penicillin vials with labels from a vet’s office in Missouri. Holding one of the bottles in his hand releases a bubble of memory where he is surrounded by biology books and test tubes and walks a leafy green campus with a beautiful girl. “Madison,” he whispers, not sure what it means as the memory floats away from him. 

Loneliness is worse than torture—the centuries have taught him that. After Sam left the Cage and then Lucifer, Michael retreated inside him. The instrument of his captivity became a tomb of nothingness where Adam was the only one left to count the minutes and years. The only reprieve was when Michael’s consciousness with its twin suns of duty and frustration burst out with its cold glow.

Seeing Sam and Dean, talking to real people again, feeds the human part of him and Adam is hungry for more.

He moves into the hallway, still unsure on his feet. He shuffles forward and follows the green and black tile wall around, touching all the doors and their numbers. Voices float down the hall and Adam follows them to an open door.

“Cas, what about extracting Michael’s grace?” Sam says. He sits on the edge of a bed with an open metal box on his lap. “We have the spell for it. Maybe we could just pull it out.”

Cas doesn’t look at the box but at Sam’s face. As Sam reaches in to pull a huge syringe out of the box, Cas sets a hand on Sam’s shoulder. 

“It almost killed you,” Cas says. “Adam is too weak. Even if he could survive the procedure, Michael’s grace and their bond is too strong for an extraction like this. It would require something more drastic.”

Sam sets the syringe back in the case and clears his throat. “We have to do something, Cas. We can’t just let him suffer.”

Adam pulls out of sight. Being here is not suffering; suffering is what they did in the Cage. Maybe Sam’s forgotten what it was like, how they were treated. He came back to a normal life, to his brother and a home, but Adam will never forget.

He leaves the conversation behind to continue walking the halls. A few doors down is the kitchen. It is warm and filled with the little details of life—the smell of chili powder, the crumbs on the counter, the sound of the air moving through the vents—and it reminds Adam of his old house. It grounds him. He sits at the table in the dark, absorbing it all.

A shadow appears at the doorway, tall and faceless, and he shifts in his seat to press back against the wall.

“It’s okay,” the shadow says, raising its hands, an open and harmless gesture for a monster. “It’s just me, Sam.”

Adam relaxes as Sam approaches him slowly and sits down on the opposite side of the table. He has a flash of a centuries-old memory, an in-between moment in the Cage where care was given when it didn’t cost either one of them. He believed in Sam’s protection then, thin as a sheet of tissue paper, against the war that raged around them.

“Sugar,” Adam says, grabbing at the next thought. Sam laughs and shakes his head in confusion. “I can smell it in here. Reminds me of when I was little.”

Sam’s smile melts into something sad. “Your mom liked to bake?”

Adam nods. Sam gets up and opens one of the cabinets, pulling out a package of chocolate chip cookies. He tears it open and offers one to Adam who takes it. He smells it before taking a bite.

“Not homemade but they’re Dean’s favorite. Would you like something more to eat? I could fix you a sandwich.”

“Fix,” Adam repeats. The words are coming easier now but sometimes one word catches in the stream of his thoughts and it snags.

Sam must take that as agreement because he moves back to the cabinet and pulls out bread and peanut butter. He sneaks a look at Adam as he spreads it.

“We’re all out of jelly. Is honey okay?” 

Adam crinkles up his face. “I guess. Can’t remember the last thing I ate.”

Sam looks stricken and hesitates over the sandwich with his knife.

“It’s okay. My mom made them that way.” He tries for a reassuring smile but it feels odd and rigid on his face and Sam looks away, squeezing honey on the bread and cutting the sandwiches in half.

“Am I a monster?” he asks as Sam sets down the plate in front of him. “I heard Dean and Cas talking before.”

“It’s not that easy,” Sam says. “Dean and Cas are worried because of what we went through with the other Michael but no, you’re not a monster.”

Adam picks up one half of the sandwich and takes a bite. It tastes like nothing but he continues to chew it until he can swallow. “What was it like when you came back?”

Sam licks his lips and laces his fingers together on the tabletop. His knuckles turn white before he speaks.

“It was rough,” he says. “Adjusting back to real life. And complicated. Part of me was here and part of me was still in the Cage. In the end, Dean made sure that I was put back together.” 

The words come out of Sam like Adam is pulling his teeth one by one. He pokes at the edge of the bread on his plate. “Split in two? But Michael is still inside me.”

“I don’t know why you ended up—” Sam pauses, struggling for a word, “—this way, but we’ll figure it out, Adam. I promise.”

Adam takes another bite of the sandwich to be polite and Sam smiles at him which makes it worth the effort.

“It was quiet after Lucifer left,” Adam says. “Day after day went by with nothing to do. The emptiness was worse than when Michael and Lucifer would fight or turn on us. Do you remember—”

“No,” Sam cuts him off. “I don’t remember. Those memories… really messed me up.” 

Adam waits for more. He’s learned to be patient.

“When I was put back together—” Sam clears his throat and scratches nervously behind his ear. “—Cas took on some of my memories and it helped. A lot. But they’re not completely gone. I have to keep them buried.”

“I spent most of my life with Michael. Without that, what am I?” Adam asks.

“You’re here with us now. We will help you make new memories.”

“So, this is home now?” He’s spent almost all of his life below ground in the Cage. This strange dark bunker might work as shelter but he knows that it will never really behome.

“As long as you want,” Sam says. “How about a tour of the place?”

~~~

Sam walks him back down the hallway and shows Adam his bedroom with stacks of files and books around a bed and desk. The next room is Dean’s. The bed is made with military corners and there’s an old record player in the corner with a stack of vinyl albums. On Dean’s desk are the parts of a gun, laid out on a towel to be cleaned, and a few snapshots propped up on the lamp. Adam picks up one with a blond woman and runs his finger down her face.

“That’s our mom,” Sam says with a small smile. “Dean was about four years old when we lost her.” Adam sets it down gently, leaning it back as it was against the lamp.

There’s a row of other empty rooms and Sam tells Adam that Cas doesn’t sleep so he can take his pick and make it his own. He wonders what happened to the things in his old dorm room, especially the framed photo of his mom that sat on the shelf above his bed. _Madison_, he remembers, _I went to school in Madison_.

Sam moves onto the downstairs level to give a quick tour of the garage, gun range, and gym. As they climb back up the stairs, Adam wonders if he’ll ever be able to find his way around these rooms by himself.

“Have you always lived here?” he asks. He remembers an old farmhouse and junkyard and an old man who seemed to care for the brothers.

“No, no,” Sam replies. “We lived in motels growing up. Moved in here about seven years ago. Turns out our grandfather was a member of a secret society and this was their headquarters. All the members are gone so it’s ours.”

_Our grandfather_. It takes him a moment to remember that was this would have been his grandfather too. Does that mean he’s a legacy like Sam and Dean? Of what—killing monsters? He doesn’t remember much of what they told him in that old farmhouse about their lives or what the angels said about them. Something about stopping the apocalypse and saving the world. 

He doesn’t really care - it didn’t save his world.

~~~

“And here’s the map room,” Sam says. 

The large table in the center of the room glows gold in the low light. When they first walked into the Bunker, he hadn’t noticed much about this room since Sam and Dean had hustled him back to the infirmary where Cas was waiting. It looks busy and important and he touches some of the papers and implements on the table with a brief smile. A few more steps into the room and his heart begins to pound against his ribs and he closes his eyes. 

Traces of Michael’s grace are here; he can sense them before he sees them. Sam is talking about the Men of Letters and their work but his voice fades into the background as Adam stops to focus on wisps of the lightest blue circling above his head. They float like clouds and he trails his fingers through the strands. The feel of them is like silk and he opens his mouth in wonder. This is not his Michael but another. A charge surges through his fingertips and his joints begin to ache again as if he’s being pulled apart.

Sam doesn’t notice and moves ahead of him. “And this is our library--”

The screams hit him at the bottom of the steps and he stutters to a stop. The echoes of grace still swirl above him but they begin to circle faster before they nose-dive at him, funneling down his throat into his core like a tornado. He gasps as these remnants feed him the ghost of memories—how the other Michael defeated his Lucifer and started the apocalypse, how he followed Sam and Dean to this world and made his plans for destruction, how Dean said yes to save his brother, how God abandoned them in every world. At the end of this memory reel, he sees how Lucifer’s spawn killed his other. Fury and righteous purpose resonate inside and jolt him fully awake.

“Adam?” Sam runs back over to him but stops. “What’s wrong?”

He wants to answer but he is thrust aside.

“What’s wrong?” Michael says in a deeper voice that is both familiar and terrible. “You put me in a cage, Sam, and then ask, _what’s wrong_?”

Sam’s face freezes as Adams’ eyes start to glow. “Adam, don’t--”

“Adam isn’t here right now.” He is—Michael lies—but he’s unable to do more than sit back and watch. “Do you think I’d forget about how you and your brother ruined everything? I’ve had nothing but time to think about what I would do to you.” His lips curl into a rictus of bitterness and Adam can feel the rush of joy that Michael takes from Sam’s fear.

“Dean!” Sam yells and tries to back away, and Michael tosses him with a flick of his fingers to crash into the edge of the library table and knock over one of the chairs. Part of Adam wants to stop Michael, but there’s another part—the part that has been locked away while Sam lived his life and had his family around him—that wants to watch him suffer.

Slowly, Michael climbs the library steps as Sam skitters backward, blood running down the side of his face. “You don’t have to do this, Adam, we will find a way—“

He picks up Sam by the throat and shoves him back against the pillar. Sam is struggling to pull Michael’s hand away as he gasps for air. Michael could snap Sam’s neck with a thought but the pain and the struggle are too satisfying after all these years. As Michael squeezes harder, Adam pushes back. Killing Sam isn’t what he wants. He wants this to end - he wants to go home - and he pounds against the walls of Michael’s mind, the angel possessing him flinches and drops Sam to the ground.

Sam coughs and scrambles to stand up and move away. “We’ve killed you before.”

“Not me, just a copy,” Michael says. “It won’t be so easy this time, not without your nephilim.” 

Sam glances past him and Michael can sense Cas in the room behind him but doesn’t turn.

“Brother, that angel blade can’t kill me. You know that.” 

“I am aware,” Cas says, as he adjusts his hold on the silver blade. “But I can’t let you hurt Sam.”

“Castiel, your faith in these humans is dangerous.”

At that, Michael turns to face Cas and Adam can see the angel’s true form again, shimmering like a star behind his vessel. Michael starts to walk down the stairs to put an end to the other angel but his power stutters and he stops. Adam waits, wondering if the grace will fade again. In the pause, he sees Dean behind Cas drawing on the doorway in blood. Dean finishes the sigil and slams his cut palm on it.

Michael knows what the symbol means and screams in frustration. The banishing spell won’t stop him but it will delay what he needs to do which is to finish his mission. Adam’s core is yanked and the force pulls him up on the balls of his feet. He waits but instead of his body being transported, the spell keeps him frozen in place. Michael’s grace and his soul burn inside his chest and a jagged clump crawls up his throat like razor blades. He can’t breathe and gags on it which makes the pain worse as it moves from his chest into his throat. His limbs begin to shake.

“What’s happening?” Sam shouts as he runs down to join Dean and Cas. He starts to move towards Adam but Dean holds him back.

“The glass is breaking,” Cas says.

Michael is silent inside him now, not gone but not here, and Adam can only be a victim to the pain. The echoes that he swallowed have broken the bond inside him and he watches as icy shards of blue grace fall from his mouth, lingering for only a second before dissipating into the air. The last bit of it unhinges his jaw and forces his tongue down as it emerges and disappears. His body is released from the spell and he drops to his knees, breathless and now truly empty.

~~~

“Heal him, Cas.”

“This is beyond my ability to fix, Sam.”

He’s flat on his back again in the infirmary bed. Whatever strength he had is gone. It went with Michael. He hears the three of them murmuring, discussing his fate, how best to resolve the problem of Adam.

“Sam,” he whispers.

“Hey, how do you feel?” Warm hands touch his arm and Sam’s face appears to his left. He tries to move but all he can do is grimace. “Just take it easy.”

Taking it easy isn’t in the cards as he fights for every breath he takes. His chest cavity feels shredded and empty like the aftermath of an Alien movie and tears begin to leak from the corner of his eyes.

“We’ll find a way to make you better. Okay, kid?” Dean says, coming up on the right. “Hang in there.”

“No,” he says. “Not going to get better. I know that.”

Sam squeezes his hand and he squeezes back. “What can we do?”

“I just want to go home.”

Sam looks over at Dean and swallows hard. Cas pushes Dean to the side and steps up to the bed. “I think I can help.” 

Once again, Cas presses two fingers to Adam’s forehead and a bright light floods his soul.

~~~

He can breathe again. The pain is gone and the smell of fresh-cut grass and lilacs fills his nose. When he opens his eyes, there’s a house in front of him that is blue with white shutters. The lilacs and a scattering of hydrangeas form a colorful hedge around the house and the handrail on the porch needs a new coat of paint. 

As he walks up the porch steps, he looks down at the red-and-white backpack in his hand and unzips it to find his anatomy books with peeling stickers from UW bookstore.

The front door of the house opens and a woman with blond hair stares at him.

“Mom?”

She breaks into a smile and throws the door open. “Adam. I was wondering where you went.”


End file.
